I'm touched by flames of orange congruence
as I poured the fluids
hidden within a storm so prudent
and swore I knew it
torn in my core so I war with the nuisance.
Holding hands with a chance
that came in the form of a Judas,
freezing the evening, the warm is useless.
Yet we can only possess what Lord chooses
sometimes I forget, and think:
"Maybe I should be more ruthless."
I search for a chord in music
to find my sores and sooth it.
What do I take for the bruises
that are intangible?
I'm not used to using the instincts of an animal,
so I try to grin and bear it, but I feel a sting in my mandible.
I feel like a canceled soul,
I need my armor back, my shirts and pants are old.
Hearing the slow heart beat, so I dance with cold.
I thought I saw the finish line so I ran for gold
and clashed with those who answer bold!
I try to get a grip but my hands aren't whole.
I'm flying underwater, I hope I land on shore,
climbing up the walls but I'm trying to stand on the floor.
I keep emitting signs of a pain no man can ignore.
Not getting burnt is instilled, a desire to ascend
but I'm in front of a windmill and there's fire in the wind.
I'm tired of the end substituting my beginnings.
As the empire will pretend
that I'm not wired to the sin.
While I ask the bartender to pour my glass higher with the Gin.
Wish I could be innocent as infant,
but I would be a liar amongst men,
hearts at a loss, but my mind only admires a win-win.
So I'm holding tight like pliers to make a dire imprint.
And sigh first as I burst, so no one enquires my intent.
Picture Source: Google Images
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